


First Day of My Life

by isawsparks



Category: South of Nowhere
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawsparks/pseuds/isawsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything that is high school will all be over soon. And it's this thought, this only one, that continuously spins through your mind as you sweep through Grey's smoky front doors. </p>
<p>(Or, a universe where Ashley never found Spencer in the gymnasium that first day.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Day of My Life

It's a momentous night. A New Beginning's Eve, as you've declared it.

You've been waiting on this night for years.

The Cliques. The Cheerleaders. The Jocks. The dirty looks. The snide remarks.

The Hate.

Everything that is high school will all be over soon.

And it's this thought, this only one, that continuously spins through your mind as you sweep through Grey's smoky front doors. Yet, deep down, you know better. In all your eighteen years, you're at least wise enough to know that some things will never end. That things like hate can't just be extinguished.

Like fire, hate might never go out.

Dying only once it's burnt a life.

"Ashley, hun, how are ya?" Kat's already pouring what looks to be a Cape Codder, and you're thankful that some things never end. Never change. And, yeah, people like Kat don't come along often, but when they do, they stay. They stick.

At least, you hope they do.

"Fantastic." You dip your eyes to the lightly shaded cocktail in Kat's hands, nodding towards it, "as long as that's for me?"

It's a long shot, you knew it as the futile words left your lips. Four years you've been coming to this very bar, in this very town, facing this very bartender, asking that very same and tired question. And you're yet to score anything more than a Shirley Temple, with extra cherries of course, and it always infuriates you more than if you had received nothing at all.

But, tonight's different. Tonight, a hesitant look crosses Kat's features. A look that is new, full of weighty contemplation. And, with a simple shrug of her shoulders, the look on Kat's face turns into a sly smile. "I guess I can turn a blind eye tonight. It is a night of celebration, after all." A glass coated in condensation slides across the bar, as Kat leans closer. Whispers, "Just this once."

You practically gawk as your tiny fingers wrap around the glass, thinking to yourself that maybe Graduation Eve isn't so bad. Maybe it's the reason for Kat's good natured grin, looking like a vision of pride. Maybe it's the reason for the plentiful sip you're taking, relishing in the sharp sweet taste.

Celebrating, indeed.

"So?" Kat -- wiping dry fresh glasses from the washer behind the bar -- raises an eyebrow, suddenly appearing to be something closer to a mother than a bartender. Something more than the very mother you kind of have, and it's in this pathetic setting, surrounded by even more pathetic music and patrons, that you sadly realize Kat just might be the closest thing to a parent you have.

And you treat her just as much, echoing with equal parts impatience and petulance. "So?"

" _So_ , how is the soon-to-be-graduate?"

Your mouth smirks around a sticky straw. "Just peachy."

"Come on, Ash. You're telling me you're not gonna miss any of this?"

"Hmm..." You squint your eyes, pressing a finger against your pursed lips, "Nope. Not at all."

Kat only chuckles, letting a slight heaviness lilt her laughter -- seeing through the carefully devised armor you've created around yourself, catching the lonely girl you truly are that no one sees -- and nods her head. Maybe in disapproval.

Maybe in pity.

Either way, you want neither.

This is a night of celebration, afterall.

So, you swirl the straw in your drink, swirl your stool at the bar, and tune out the rest. Waiting for Kat to move on with her life, and her night, and her job. Which she does, eventually, and part of you is relieved.

The other part? Well, the other part keeps repeating _careful what you wish for..._

It's not until half of your cool cranberry cocktail disappears, before you finally focus straight ahead, staring into the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Finally daring to actually look at everyone around you. That enclose you. Some you've never known, and those you only used to know. Used to know _so_  well.

Makes looking even harder.

"Dyke." A random passerby mutters under his beer stained breath, sounding vaguely familiar, as he stumbles through the corridor containing the mens bathroom, and it makes it impossible to look anywhere. Makes that one thought trip through your brain, like a CD that's been scratched too much, skipping over that same nauseating part over and over again, and you have to take a deep breath. You have to remind yourself:

_Yes. It will all be over soon enough._

*****

In the grand scheme of things, you haven't had it all that bad. Aside from the hours spent in school -- some more than others, depending on the day -- your life isn't so rough. You've got a roof above your head, more clothes than you know what to do with, and pretty much anything you've ever wanted you've gotten. To put it simply, money's not an issue.

And so, compared to others, your life could be considered a walk in the park.

But, you really don't see it that way. Sure, there might be people starving in Africa, hell even just down the road, but you believe everyone's life is their own, is all they really have. And there is no official scale to measure the weight of misfortune. Nothing to compare the burden of one person's problems to someone else's. In your book, pain is a universal language. A tie that knows no bounds or color. Pain is blind to the person it targets. Which is why you believe that whatever truly troubles one person, hurts just as much as what ails another. It's all about perspective, you think, and sometimes people don't bother to look through anyone else's eyes but their own.

You know this revelation also applies to you. But you don't devote any more time to it than the initial realization. It's safer that way.

Born an only child to already divorced parents, you're the daughter of a burnt out rock star father and a gold digger mother. While both are still alive and well – well, as well as two miserable people going nowhere can be – you consider them both dead. Realized a long time ago, with much difficulty and sadness, that the dreams of having a _Mom and Dad_  were dreams that should die. So you allowed them to, and it was easier than you imagined. Made you wonder why you waited so long.

Why you hadn't moved onto the next best comfort sooner.

Sex.

It started early. Before you could have even possibly known what you were doing. But you learned soon enough. By the time you reached high school, you already had a reputation. The Reputation. You didn't mind. In all honesty, you kind of liked it -- well, on the surface. Below that, you knew the truth. Knew you were only fooling yourself. Beneath everything and behind all the walls, you realized the path you were heading down was the road paved for you by your father. And maybe your mother. Maybe so many past ancestors. Which is why you tell yourself you don't regret what you've done and how you've grown and the person you've become. Because, maybe it was in your blood and the blueprint of life given to you on the day of your birth.

Maybe this is how you were supposed to turn out. No matter what. Even if your mother had baked brownies and cut the crust from your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even if your father had been there for Christmas and your birthday and kissed you goodnight every night.

It just doesn't matter, and _that_ is what matters to you. Because this is who you are now and nothing can change that. You tell yourself you wouldn't want to anyway -- makes it easier to stay the same, avoiding who you really are, evading the possibility of _needing_ to change -- because you've come to love this part of your life. You've come to love the warm bodies (never the person they belong to) beside yours. Girls, boys...your want and desire is indiscriminate as pain. Your _need_ knows no limits. They're just people and they offer comfort and company in your otherwise empty and lonely life all the same.

Only once have you allowed the physical to amount to something more. Something intimate. His name was Aiden Dennison and he was gorgeous. It started in the ninth grade, a random hook up at a random party one random night. But, this wasn't like all the other randoms. This was sweet, and gentle, and innocent. There was no pressure for sex. Which now -- a few years and many hardships later -- you have to wonder if he ever even wanted it to begin with.

Because, he didn't take more than he was given.

And he never asked for anything he wasn't allowed.

He was a man you had never known. Never seen. And would never look for again. Because, six months into your relationship (the only one you've pitifully ever had), Aiden gave you something you never asked for. Would never ask for.

You were pregnant, and all you could think was _I'm just going to mess this up like everything else_.

It took some time, but you somehow stopped being so cynical, so pessimistic. Slowly, you started thinking _maybe I can do this_.

Terrified, you started hoping _maybe I've found someone I can love and who'll love me, unconditionally_.

But, eventually, the pain found you. As it always does. Three months into your pregnancy, you miscarried and with it, discovered the absolute threshold of your own pain. You'd never felt it so hard and so deep. Straight to your core. Never knew you could miss something you never had so bad. Never realized losing someone else could feel like losing yourself too, even if that person wasn't yours yet.

It was more difficult than you'll ever let on, and it only worsened when you saw the man you always knew (but hadn't yet met) in Aiden. In the flash of an eye, he showed himself to be no different than your dead beat dad. It took Aiden no time to distance himself and move on, leaving you behind to fix the pieces. Not only of your own broken life, but the one you had both created and lost. Once again, you were alone to figure it all out, more burdened than you were before, while he ran away. Reaching for a chance at _normal_ , obtaining a life that excluded you and everything you both went through. Like nothing had ever happened.

It hurt, a lot. But you sucked it up. You went on, tried to do what he had done. Acted like it had happened to someone else. Acted through days, weeks, and months till it started feeling like the pain was no longer yours.

You were back to some sort of your old self. And now, years later, you'll laugh and smirk and say _thank God I dropped that dead weight when I did_. Yeah, you'll roll your eyes, cursing the sky above _dear Lord, what was I thinking_?

It's only when you're alone in your head, that you feel the pain that still somehow beats inside your heart, rippling through your veins. Because Aiden's the only person to last more than a few weeks inside your barren life. He's the one that once stuck. He's all you have to weigh the good against the bad.

And it makes you so sick because it's so pathetic. In all your eighteen years, all you have to balance out the bad is Aiden Fucking Dennison?

Well, there's still hope. That was only the first eighteen years, and those are about to end. There's plenty more eighteen years in your future. In your near future, because tonight is the first night of forever. And that's a thought you could get used to.

That's a thought you're adding to the film stock already rolling through your brain.

It's all going to end soon.

And then...then it will truly begin.

****

You've been staring, and you've been doing it for too long. Bright colors from the flashing strobe lights, speckling the dance floor, are now following your line of sight. No matter where you look, they follow like a shadow, marring everything. As if you've been staring at the sun, dotting your vision with muddy puddles of color.

Finally, your sight comes back, and glancing at who now stands next to you -- not too close, but not far enough away -- you realize you might as well have been staring into the sun. What you're left with is just as dangerous.

What you're left with is something, someone, you don't really want to see.

Aiden, still with his boyish good looks, all toned and tan and fucking _perfect_  -- like nothing has ever touched him -- bunches his fingers into tight little uncomfortable fists as he glances your way. "Uh, hey, Ash."

"Hey." You now have no problem looking him in the eye, his nervousness only spurs your confidence on -- makes it easier to forget he's the one who left _you_ \-- makes you cock an eyebrow, "Having fun?"

He blushes. Somehow, you've made him blush in under five seconds with just two words. "Y-yeah." He clears his throat, "Yeah. You?"

"Oh, you know me," And the quick flash in his eyes tells you he _does_ know, still thinks of you in all the ways he shouldn't probably because he can't have you anymore. "I'm never one to waste a good time."

The words send him to choke on nothing but air, his throat working hard to swallow, and you feel triumphant. Succeeding in what you had intended, inflicting him with discomfort and maybe a little pain. Making him see what he cowardly ran away from, and perhaps regret everything he could have had.

And you want so badly to keep going, to wink, and giggle and have him one last time before you throw him away forever. Finally getting your well deserved revenge for all he's done to you.

But then – "Baby."

Madison Duarte, a girl with a past that's tied so tightly to your history, strolls up to the bar. Effectively putting herself between your body and the body of your ex-boyfriend, who just happens to be her current boyfriend.

"Hi Madison!" You say with manufactured cheer, masking the disdain and hurt dwelling inside, "Are you totally just having, like, the best time ever?"

She turns towards you exactly once, and even that's just to reveal a scowl that hides nothing. Unlike you, Madison only displays how she really feels. And, wrapping a protective, possessive, hand around Aiden's arm, she won't look at you again. "Come on, Aiden. Let's go before we catch something."

There's no time for you to reply with an equally witty comeback, they're already mixing back in with the fray. But, even from this distance, you can still vaguely make out Madison's voice: _how you ever dated her in the first place still boggles my mind._

Or maybe it's someone else's. Maybe it's _how I ever put up with her, I'll never know..._

You're not sure, and you don't really want to find out.

It's painful enough to see your once best friend forever unable to share even the same space with you.

It hurts enough that you still have to act like you hate Madison, someone you once loved -- actually loved, like family -- especially when you might still love that person.

It kills to have that person, that family, hate you in the same way you hate your own family. The one you think of as dead.

And, suddenly the fruity cocktail that's been left on the bar looks far too enticing. Looks far too lonely, kind of like an objectified version of yourself. So, upon noticing Kat all the way down at the other end of the bar, you make a grab for it.

Through a torrent of swallows, a harsh brunt of laughter escapes your lips, because isn't this just perfect.

Isn't this just so symbolic that the only thing belonging to you is a drink that was meant for someone else.

*****

You met Madison on the first day of kindergarten, back when you were a clean slate, waiting for life to paint itself inside you. All big and bright. Back when you were just a fresh piece of clay, and no one's misguided hands had ever touched you, molding you into something you'd never be able to undo.

Madison came from a good family. A big family. Two loving parents, two sisters, and one brother. She was the youngest. She was the baby, and she was spoiled. Which might have made the connection between the two of you. You were such different girls, yet your family's fortune made you alike.

You were such lucky girls, both receiving whatever you asked for, leaving nothing to be jealous or envious over. Oh, but there was something, one thing you wished for. Over and over again, and you never got it. Would never get it. What Madison received daily, maybe even hourly, you would never see.

Madison had a full life's worth of love.

It probably should have infuriated you, having to see something so difficult for you to obtain. Probably should have divided the both of you, seeing what Madison so easily received, without ever having to try. But, you never let it. Wouldn't let it. You loved being apart of Madison's life. Being apart of her family in some small way. In any way, really. The nights the Duarte's invited you over for dinner was all you had. The nights they allowed you to spend the night, were what got you through most of your desolate childhood.

There were fights, of course. Meaningless at the time.

_My doll dresses better than yours._

_Well I have more toys than you, so there._

And, as you aged, they escalated into deeper, more meaningful issues.

_My boobs are totally better than yours._

_Pish, yeah right. Mine are way better and bigger._

You both knew these weren't really fights. These were debates, games really, to entertain your pre-teenage years when there was nothing else to do. You both loved each other so much, that even when real issues began rearing their ugly heads, you both knew to back off. Knew to forgive and forget.

Somewhere along the way, though, someone stopped backing off. Madison only pushed further. And now, there's no forgiveness. There's nothing.

There's only forgetting.

To be honest, you really don't know how it happened, you only know when it did. Freshmen year of high school, right about the same time you started dating Aiden. Yes, you've wondered and suspected and briefly thought the coincidence could mean something, could directly relate to each other. But...this was Madison. This was your best friend. Your only semblance of family.

This was more than a boy. More than something you both wanted, because you never resented Madison for having The One Thing you wanted. No, you never let anything come between your friendship. You just couldn't.

And yet...here you are now. Not talking. Not even looking, because acknowledgment is more than she's willing to give. Feels like the world, and then some, has come between your friendship, shattering it into tiny irreparable pieces.

Leaving a sharp little piece of yourself to find it slightly unfair.

She loved you once, for who you were. She looked past it all, the rebellion, the promiscuity, all the boys that passed through your bedroom doors. Didn't even bat an eye at all the girls that craved and cried for your love.

It only took one boy to swing through your life and stay, to kick out the one person who swore to never leave.

And now they're together. They're sickeningly _in love_  and there's a piece, a whole big chunk of yourself, that finds it all incredibly unfair. Finds it cruel and something close to a joke the devil would make. Or maybe it's just the basis of Murphy's Law.

The queen cheerleader and the star basketball player living a life that has no room for you. And you hate that you resent them for it.

But what you hate even more? What you hate the most? The envy that pulsates through your veins like blood, as if it's the only emotion keeping you alive. Watching the bond they share, one that once included you, and how you no longer belong to any bond.

Well, no more. You've had enough. It's time to move on from the Aiden Dennison's of your past, because he's not worth it. Learn to live with the Madison Duarte's ingrained in your history.

Because you met her when you were just a blank page.

And the words she's drawn inside the book of your life, you'll never be able to erase.

******

"Yo, Davies. Take a picture it lasts longer."

You blink, and you're back. Never realized you were stuck in a gaze in the first place. Concentrating on something that's no longer there.

Finally glancing to your left, you quirk a small smile. "Why bother? No one in this place is worth saving."

Carmen, the closest thing to a friend you have, smirks. Slowly spins her stool to face the dance floor (the direct opposite of where you're facing) as she surveys the scene. Surveys one person, and it's one person you _will not_  look at.

"Oh, I don't know. I think the scenery here is _just_ fine." Head cocked back, she curls her top lip and probably thinks it looks hot. You, however, see it more like a snarl. A picture of unattractiveness.

She keeps staring, on the border of ogling, on the edge of drooling, but you won't look there. You can't look there. For a reason you have yet to discover, and will never discover, because after tomorrow you'll be gone. Driving so far from this town. Heading east, ready to try a new coast. One that doesn't know Ashley Davies. Doesn't know the people she's had in her bed (or her heart).

Maybe you'll take Carmen with you. Maybe you'll keep letting her believe she's coming for the ride.

But you know better.

You know Carmen's just as useless as everyone else in this town. Everyone in your life.

******

You met through a mutual...friend.

Maggie. The first girl you ever slept with and will forever remember as the one girl that opened the floodgates in your heart. Showed you there was more than just absent men. More than just greedy boys who took, took, and took some more.

Maggie showed you far worse. She showed you hope. Opened you to the thought that there were girls who just loved. Women who just cared.

And then she left. One night, the best of your life, filled with kisses and touches and first times you never dreamed of, and Maggie pushed you outside the doors of her life.

Never to speak to you again.

That was four years ago, and it was only last year that you finally saw her. At a club, dancing in the same magnetic way that followed her to the bedroom. That followed her everywhere. Everything about her was alluring, everything she did was addictive. You watched the swarms of girl whispering _did she come with anyone?_  Saw the raised eyebrows, impressed, lips parted and licked, drawling _she's fucking hot._

You turned away from it. Didn't want to see the girl you'd come to idolize -- simply because she was one of few things you couldn't keep -- being idolized by everyone else.

It was as you were ordering your third tequila shot, that you heard that raspy voice. "Make it two."

You turned to the unwelcome visitor, incredulous. "Thanks but this is a one person party."

"You sure about that?" And then she nodded her head toward the one time object of your affection, as if she knew, _understood_ , "Looks to me like you could use the company."

It didn't take much to let her sit down, not like you had any say in that anyway. And you let her shoot those shots with you (three more were still to come) because you did need the company. Desperately so. Especially when that company seemed to see exactly what you had gone through. Saw everything they had once gone through too.

After your Sex on the Beach shot (you found it so very appropriate) Carmen had finally broached the topic. Slurred, "She's pretty amazing, huh?"

And you played dumb, played drunk. "Who?"

She laughed. Cackled, even. " _Right._ " She knew your game. It was, afterall, the same one she played. "She hurt you that bad, eh?"

So you sighed, let it all out, doing the one thing drunks should never do (but somehow _always_  managed to do) spilling your guts to the one person you probably shouldn't have.

But it just felt  _so_  good getting it all out. Confessing some of your deepest pain, sharing your abandonment issues with someone who could identify in some small way. In some minuscule way, because Carmen had only been ditched by Maggie, not a boy who ran away and left her to deal with death alone.

She was still able to relate on some level though. So, a friendship was born. Strictly friendship. You would never sleep with her and never have.

...Well, you _think_  you haven't. You're almost positive. You're not completely sure. There might have been some fooling around.

There might have been more than that, on the nights where you were black out drunk. Doing lines off any surface in Grey's bathroom, just to wake from the dizzying daze, to shake it off and see through the fog. Like jump starting a dead car.

But some nights it didn't work. Some nights the coke only made things more muddy, and you'd wake up sticky from a cold sweat in your own bed. Naked. And sometimes Carmen would be there and she'd be naked too.

You're not sure what you've gone through with Carmen, but you're willing to never find out. You don't want to have to deal with it. You don't want to have to examine something or someone more than you have to.

Especially when it's something so close to yourself.

*****

"Paige alert." Carmen, finally facing the same direction as you and no longer paying attention to what you can't even acknowledge, whispers close to your ear. Makes you shiver just a little bit.

Before the slight panic sets in.

Paige.

The girl who just won't let go (the girl that resembles a skewed you, if you just slanted it in a different direction, angled it toward another situation). You've slept with her more times than you can remember, and have regretted it every time because it keeps amounting to more.

She's become obsessed. Has come to the twisted conclusion that maybe she can change you. That maybe she's The One.

Which is impossible, because you can't change yourself, won't even think about it. You don't know how. And how can someone be the one, when you can't even be the one for yourself?

"Hey, baby."

Paige is finally here, pressed against your side so all you feel are her breasts sandwiching your arm. It makes you uncomfortable and awkward, which makes it even more unbearable because this is a girl you've slept with. You've done so many dirty deeds with this girl, and now just the simple act of contact -- clothed covered contact -- makes you turn inward.

"Hi, Paige." You make sure to sigh, exhaling like you were burdened, as you say her name.

She doesn't catch the drift, fingers lightly tracing patterns over your forearm, "Wanna dance?"

"Hey, stalker. Why don't you, uh, move on to someone else." Carmen's hand slides down your thigh, "Can't you see she's here with someone already?"

It's dangerous terrain, you realize it. Because maybe Carmen kind of wants you, maybe Carmen's doing a friendly act for her own benefit, instead of yours. But you let her. Because Carmen is easier to shrug off than Paige.

Because maybe all the reasons you keep Carmen around is for your own benefit. Never hers.

It works. Paige disappears into the crowd, wearing the same sulk you've always given her. And, yet, Carmen's hand is still on your thigh, feeling like it doesn't plan on leaving.

"Damn, that girl is so hot." Her voice moves in waves, flushing with interest, hand still rotating in tiny nauseating circles as if you won't notice it, "You really think she's straight?"

She nudges you when you don't answer. Correction: won't answer.

"Come on, Ash, look at her. You don't think that girl is the least bit bi-curious?"

You won't look. "Nope." Answering shortly, curtly, instead.

"I bet I can get into her pants." Carmen boasts, sounding every bit the misogynist male she sometimes prides herself to be, and it repulses you. You're not sure if it's from her tone or her words. Who those words are directed towards. "Bet I can do it tonight."

And that's it. That's all you need.

"Do whatever the fuck you want."

Leaves your lips in a snarl, just like the one Carmen wears on her face, but you don't see it. You're removing yourself from the bar, never turning back to see if she's mad, not like it'd bother you even if she were. No, that wouldn't upset you at all. But, if she were smiling...

An all knowing little smirk plastered across her face, laughing at how foolish you are for thinking no one can see through the facade, no one can see the reason you're running...

...Yeah, if Carmen were smiling it'd bother you. And you're too scared to figure out why.

Like a bratty child, you stomp across the somewhat sticky floor. Destination unknown, but you keep walking. Feeling your body moving to the music, the rhythm, your hips mixing with the melody. Suddenly, you're on autopilot, going through the motions of desire. This is what feeds you. The eyes looking, probing, trying to reach inside your own. See what you hold beneath what you show.

No one will see that.

You truly believe no one ever really has.

And then it happens. A body, thick and damp with sweat, crashes into yours. Sends your sexiness off kilter, as if his clumsiness has rubbed off on you.

You have no problem dealing with the situation, like a mature adult. "Jesus Christ, it's called eyes, asshat. Invest in them."

"Whatever,  _dyke._ "

There's that word again. The same one that was grunted to you earlier has just been grunted to you again, and you know that voice. You know how that word sounds, draped in that voice. You've heard it so many times.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The random passerby wasn't so random. Was actually the biggest asshole you've ever met.

Glen Carlin. What a mess he's become. You almost feel bad for the poor fool.  _Almost_.

He moved here three years ago with his family from Ohio and it didn't take him long to make a name for himself. To shake up the foundation of King High's social structure. Almost immediately he became the starting point guard of the basketball team, knocking Aiden off his star pedestal. And along with it came Madison, managing to snag her for a few months. Once again, knocking King Aiden off his worst pedestal.

And then it all ended. One street pick up game and torn ACL later, and Glen Carlin would never set foot on a basketball court again. Finding other recreational habits to invest in instead. They weren't as upstanding, weren't nearly as healthy, but...we all have our vices.

Glen's vices have left him in shambles, turning him into an even bigger asshole than he was to begin with. He always made crude comments, always passed far more judgment than he should have, but you could always see the little boy inside. Could see the good home he came from, and the parents that meant well.

With some form of envious disdain, you saw the packed school lunches and heard the loud cheers during his games.

Well, that little boy's gone now, and all that's left is a man, twenty pounds over weight, with a nasty pill addiction.

But, then again, who's to say your vices are much better.

"Come on, baby, don't you want to know what a real man can do?"

He's still there, towering above you like a threat, whispering words that twist your insides.

And maybe he is a threat. Maybe he's so much worse than that.

Maybe it's why you feel your body shuddering, shrinking back of its own volition.

But then – "Stop it, Glen."

_She's_  here. Not only Glen's sister, but the one you can't stand to see. And boy, aren't you seeing her now? Up close and personal. A foot's length separation, and you can't stop yourself from pushing back into the sea of bodies. Needing out.

But there is no way out.

And her eyes are trained nowhere but on yours. "Leave her alone."

"Shut up, Spence."

"Now, Glen!"

He's gone before the words finish leaving her mouth. Leaving you alone. Leaving  _you_  alone with  _her_.

Your insides start boiling with a feeling you've never known. Bigger than frustration. Scarier than any anxiety. It's a mixture that makes you feel like you might self combust.

Now, this is awkward. The way you're both standing so close, but keeping your distance. As if there's an imaginable line of fire and you're both making sure to not touch it. To not cross it

Finally the heated silence breaks. "Hey." Her voice is so soft and, at the same time, blaring. Somehow it rings inside your ears, echoing around the thumping bass of whatever song the lame dj's spinning.

Your mouth hangs open, closes, opens again. For some reason, the simple action of finding one word -- any word -- is beyond troubling.

So you do what's easiest.

Cut and run.

"Thanks but I can take care of myself."

The words are coated in spite. But it's so much more than that. There's something surrounding your voice, a flavor you've never tasted before. A dangerous concoction of feelings you've never felt.

You don't take the time to try and identify it. You're following through on the running, on what you've done and what's been done to you your whole life, marching your way to the bathroom.

Taking deep breaths. Repeating thoughts you thought you'd never forget. The One Thought that is so good to remember:

_It ends tomorrow._

*****

_"Uh, yeah, do you know where Science lab 3 is?"_

They were the first words she ever said to you -- only after you had first barked at her, of course -- and you still can't forget them.

Spencer Carlin was a vision. Yes, that's a cheesy line from some rock song you shouldn't know, but it's true. She was and still is a vision.

Which is probably why you scared her away. Which is why you probably did her a favor.

That's what you tell yourself. That's what you've _been_ telling yourself ever since she walked away from you with a painfully gorgeous pout on her face. One you've pictured over and over again without any trouble. Seeing it as clear as that day three years ago.

There was a brief moment, a second's worth of time, where you thought maybe you'd apologize. Thought maybe she was worth receiving forgiveness from. Because you saw something in her, something you had yet to see in anyone, something you couldn't put your finger on. You saw it in those first few seconds you met her, which is maybe why it felt so special. Felt so cliché and corny and what all those ridiculously cheesy romantic comedies were about.

It was on that very same day, by the end of school, that you found yourself wandering down by the gymnasium. A place you never set foot in unless you had to for a grade, and even then you usually skipped, but on that day it was as if you were pulled there. It's an absurd thought, a childish notion of fate and _meant to be_. But you have no other explanation for the way you felt, and how you just knew where to go. How you knew where she was. And, sure enough, there she was, sitting high on the bleachers writing in some notebook -- you imagined hearts and other mindless doodles being sketched across the top right corner -- looking so effortlessly pretty.

She was a blank page sitting before you. A piece of priceless clay, waiting to be touched. Waiting to be sculpted and drawn and put together.

You knew it then, and maybe it's why you kept walking. Why you let a breath file out of your lungs as you filed out of that school, leaving her behind.

You weren't going to be that person. Your hands were not going to be the misguided ones changing her into a person she'd never be able to fix.

So, you kept walking, eventually started running to your Porsche -- one of the few things your father ever gave you -- and drove away. Far far away from anything that resembled everything Spencer Carlin was. You went to a club, the dingiest one you could think of, and you found some girl to get high with, blowing the dirtiest lines you've ever blown. You fucked her later on in your bed -- your mother was away, somewhere, you never knew -- and you kicked her out of your house before the sun had a chance to rise. Before you had a chance to see what you had done, who you had done it with, and think about the reasons why.

It allowed you to follow protocol. Chocking it up to who you were, who you would always be, and why walking away from the gym that day was what you had to do. What you were meant to do.

You were not meant to hang around nice girls like Spencer. You weren't supposed to taint their beauty, mixing your messy issues with what was so perfect in their life.

You've kept yourself hidden from her, never allowing there to be anything between the two of you. No shared spaces, no conversations, avoiding her like the plague. Allowing her to keep walking down the path that was paved for her by her perfect  _Mommy and Daddy._  Watching with disappointment as she joined the cheerleading squad. Stewing with something like jealousy as she had her brief fling with Aiden (while Madison was off with Glen) and biting your tongue as she formed a friendship with Madison.

Somehow it all makes it easier to ignore her. Because Lord knows she hasn't helped. Lord knows, any chance she gets to get to know you, she takes it. Clutches it. Whether it's a small smile in class or a shy  _Hey_  at a random party, Spencer Carlin seems to never give up on you, and it baffles you. Drives you crazy, even.

Why doesn't she avoid _you_ like the plague? Hasn't she figured it out? Doesn't she know who you are and what you've done? Surely she's heard the rumors by now, and surely she believes them. Yet, instead of protecting herself, she seems to only get closer, risking contaminating herself.

It's not like you haven't thought about it. Thought about saying _fuck it_ and going for it. Because God, have you thought about it. More than you'll ever admit. So many nights you've spent, tossing and turning, imagining what Spencer Carlin might look like up close. What the skin she hides might feel like. What hearing thoughts inside her voice would sound like. Thoughts no one else has ever heard. Thoughts that speak of want. Of need. Of love.

You've watched her, the grace in her movements. The naivety in her words. It's the most amazing combination of beauty and innocence you think you've ever seen. So perfect it draws you to the same conclusion every time.

_I'd just screw her up like everyone else; like everyone else has screwed me._

It's this notion, one you always conclude to, that keeps you from caving in and going to her. Ruining her.

And sometimes you think leaving Spencer Carlin alone is the best and most unselfish thing you've ever done.

The other times....well, you can't even admit what you think the other times. Those thoughts are too dangerous, too real.

Too true.

****

You've locked yourself inside one of Grey's bathroom stalls for way too long. For an amount of time that would cause suspicion in someone if they were outside waiting.

If there was anyone outside.

But there's no one. You've taken some form of solace in the knowledge that you're all alone.

With a deep breath, you open that stall door, bracing yourself to face the world again. With squinting eyes, you look into a full length mirror across the way, bracing yourself to face yourself again.

But then– "Hey, Ash."

You're not alone. She's here, lingering by the sink like a secret, like something meant to be kept. And you can't keep her, can barely speak to her let alone touch her. And maybe you should be sprinting out the door.

But you're not.

'Um..." You're stuttering instead, moving back and forth between your two feet, as if you just can't choose which one to rely on, "Hi."

She smiles a small little smile and it sends your heart into a dizzying frenzy. Hopping all over the place like your own feet, except there's nothing for it to rely on. Your heart's the only thing _you_ ] have to rely on.

So you finally rest your weight on it, putting everything into the instinct it's tried showing you.

Without a word, you let your lips smirk a mean little smile, as you tentatively move next to her at one of the sinks, washing your hands and avoiding her at all costs.

"Are you excited?"

But she won't let you avoid. She won't ignore the dangerous line of fire that separates you.

_"For?"_  You answer indignantly, when you shouldn't answer at all.

She laughs. No, giggles. "For graduation, silly."

Suddenly, mysteriously, your heart aches. _Aches_. Because you look at her reflection and you see a goofy smile crossing her face, one you know wouldn't be there if you got everything you ever wanted from her. If you ever got to have her up close, got to have your hands drawing across her perfect planes, hearing her whispered words against your chest. Timing with the beat of your heart.

No, you're fairly certain that if you had gotten everything you ever wanted from Spencer Carlin, she'd only be left with the same pout Paige was left with.

The certainty in that belief causes you to roll your eyes, pathetically realizing that maybe it's the meanest thing you can give her. "Whatever. I just want it over with."

She's silent for longer than usual, for an amount of time that causes suspicion, so you dare looking at her. Well, her reflection, like a cheat because you're not brave enough to see her as she really is. Up close and honest.

What you see is the most beautiful girl you think you've ever seen, and she's staring at you. The real you, not some smudged version in a mirror. You realize that, unlike you, Spencer's not afraid to see what's in front of her.

Slowly, you see _that_  pout forming on her face, tugging her lips down toward the floor, a faraway look in her eyes. Coating the blue with gray.

"Huh. I kind of know what you mean."

Now that, that surprises you. Gets you to finally turn toward her, and unable to help yourself you ask, "You do?"

Your curiosity clearly shakes her, snaps her out of whatever reverie she was just in. "Yeah." Nodding slowly, she keeps her eyes on yours. Holds them like she can sense how badly you want her to let them go. How badly you want to turn and run.

But you don't. You start to feel paralyzed with fear, when you're not sure you can anymore.

Lowering her head, her eyes flick toward your lips, when she asks, voice barely audible, "Why do you hate me?"

Once again your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. So you close it, only to open it again.

"I-," You brace yourself, literally with fingers holding onto the sink counter with such force it turns them white, "I don't care enough to hate you."

Finally, the person you've built yourself into, the one with walls and masks, shows up. Ready to push Spencer Carlin away forever. Leaving you to miss her more than you'll ever realize. And, once more, you'll wonder how you can miss something you never had.

She looks visibly upset from your confession that was the biggest lie you've ever told. She looks like she actually might cry, and you feel all these little pieces of yourself hating how it makes you feel. How it makes you hate yourself.

You try smiling, reaching for that final nail in the coffin of something that never started, never lived, in the first place. But you can't. You just _can't_.

You're losing sight of it all. The things you've told yourself to make ignoring easier. The visions you've seen of what might happen to the girl before you, if you do say _screw it_ and go for it.

Everything suddenly feels like it's collapsing in on you and you're still just staring at her.

And she's still staring at you.

Well, you can't take this anymore. You can't take any of it. All the things you've wished for looking at you like maybe she's wished for it too. Like maybe she's been saying _please just do it, just go for it_.

You're about to turn from it. Turning your back from her, and a mirror holding both your reflections together -- like a hint from the universe, giving you a sign that tells you to finally give in-- and all the things you're both not saying.

You're about to do so much, but then–

"Ashley."

She whispers your name, voice thick with emotion. Filling you with your own emotion, feeling your stomach flip a little, realizing that with one word -- your name -- this girl's proved herself to be sexier and more alluring than all the Maggie's in the world combined.

And then she's stepping toward you, slow cautious steps that steal your voice away as you ask, "What?"

But she doesn't say anything, she just keeps walking. Closer and closer until you feel like there's not even enough room for you to continue breathing.

"What, Spencer?" So you ask again. Needing to fill the decreasing space with something other than silence, other than her body. "What are you doing?"

No answer, and it looks like she doesn't have one. Looks like she doesn't plan on saying anything at all, because finally she's right before you, so close you can see the tiny, faded freckles that cover her nose. And you can taste her breath, and it's just how you always imagined it -- fresh and pure -- and now you can only wonder if everything else is just how you imagined.

There's no more time for wondering, though, not when her hand is on your cheek. Holding your face as if she were something to rely on. Which you think you might need, maybe you've always needed, because now her fingers are sliding back into your hair and every time she breathes you feel it. From both your bellies brushing together with every exhalation, and on your moist lips from her soft sighs.

Before you can process what's happening, her mouth is on yours, opening the lid to a world you've kept closed for so long. Reaching inside you with the sweetest, softest kiss, revealing to you exactly the person you've always known her to be.

And before you can stop what's happening, she's pulling away. A shy smile on her lips that were just pressed to yours, that will still taste like yours and that thought turns you on _so_ much. More than it should.

There's a tightness in your chest, knowing that everything _has_ collapsed on you, feeling like you might fall over. Because she's no longer there to rely on. Her hands are back at her sides, and she's still looking at you, the shy smile turning unsure.

You don't know what to do, so you do the only thing you're capable of. "Why did you do that?"

Asking for explanations, reasons for why she ignored the gigantic wall you've placed around yourself. You need to know how she could be so stupid.

You need to know how she could be so brave.

She raises her hand to your face again, like she realizes you still need her, sees the way your own two feet are betraying you, threatening to fall out from under your own body. Tenderly, like you've been lovers for longer than this lifetime, she cups your fragile face, whisking her thumb across your bottom lip exactly once.

"Because I knew you wouldn't."

You have no chance to reply, to yell...to kiss her again. She's already gone. As quickly as she entered your life, she's walked out of it. Leaving you alone with nothing more than your own reflection. And it's such a sappy thought, but you can't stop thinking about how much more empty that reflection is without hers beside it.

And now you're thinking the real thoughts. The dangerous ones. The ones that tell you _once again someone's left_. Someone's gone, and you're all alone.

But this doesn't feel like all the other times.

You have to be honest with yourself. For once. For maybe the rest of your life from now on. Because, for the first time, someone leaving doesn't feel final. For the first time, someone running out on you doesn't feel that way. It feels more like an invitation to follow. Feels like a question waiting to be answered.

It makes you turn around and walk out that door. Whether it's to leave that question unanswered, or to find her and confess _every_ answer, you're not really sure.

But as you navigate your way through all the bodies that surround you, no longer feeling like they hold you back, you can't stop thinking That One Thought.

Can't stop hearing it remixed and reprocessed in your brain.

What once felt like _everything ending soon enough_ now feels like _everything beginning._

You finally see her, find her really. Leaning back against the bar where you once sat, elbows resting on the cool surface, and her eyes are aimed at you. Neither pushing nor probing. Just open and inviting.

And you're just waiting, watching...testing. Seeing how far she'll go, because maybe she has heard all the rumors and maybe she's known which to believe and which not to believe. Maybe she doesn't even care if any of it, or none of it, is true.

Maybe she just believes in _you._

And it's this thought, this only one, that continuously thumps inside your heart, reverberating through your brain as you start walking toward that bar.

Because maybe, deep down, you've learned. Maybe, finally eighteen years later, you've realized there are better things out there. That maybe things like unconditional love does exist.

You just have to reach for it, because sometimes it can't be the only thing reaching for you.

So you think about all the things ending and everything you've wanted to leave behind.

You think about this night, everything it means to you.

You think about A New Beginning's eve.

And you reach out.


End file.
